Stefan Salvatore Vampire Diaries Novels & Stories

Stephen joked with a smile. “Stop that!” Jessica said and stood up then briefly hugged Stephen. “Here’s Paolo, my best friend and also my boyfriend” Jessica said with a smile. They shook hands “Paolo Griffin, nice meeting you” Paolo said “Nice meeting you too” Stephen replied. Stephen ached his brown… “You’re a…” “A vampire, yes I am a vampire” Paolo said. “Not just any vampire, he’s Cassius right hand man” Jessica said.. “WHAT!!!” Stephen exclaimed…

“You seem far more interested in Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro than in a mind-numbing conversation about hedge fund portfolios.” The voice materialized directly behind her. Deep. Smooth. Italian accent threading through flawless English like a slow pour of whiskey. Damn it. She didn’t rush to turn. She counted to three. Took a measured sip of champagne. Then turned—controlled, unhurried—and found Dante Salvatore standing directly in front of her. At this proximity, he was far more dangerous. And what was most threatening wasn’t his power—it was the way he looked at her. He was seeing Elena. Not scanning her body the way every other man had. Seeing her.

Who would be calling on us this late at night; and unannounced? I dabbed at my lips and waited with the others. Monica returned with two sharp-dressed men. The smaller of the two eyed me with interest. He wore a milk white wool overcoat and an expensive white suit. He was sharp with his slicked black hair and goatee. He also happened to be a powerful Vampire. The taller one was obviously the muscle. He watched us all coolly. "Kim, Se?or Marcelle De La Torre, and his Assistant Paolo," Monica said.

My broken ankle burned with every step and I struggled to breathe as I recognised the steel gaze and hard features of the man in front of me. Silvio Salvatore. My destruction. And he was frenetic.

Salvatore stood to greet us. “Nathan, what a sight for sore eyes,” he expressed and held out his hand to shake mine. “Salvatore, great to see you again,” I said, shaking his hand. “Well, well. Who do we have here?” Salvatore smiled, looking over at Amelie. “Hi, Mr. Aventini,” Amelie spoke. “My name is Amelie. I’m Dr. Michaels's student assistant.” “Ciao, Bella,” Salvatore said as he took Amelie’s hand and kissed it. I wasn’t happy with Salvatore’s lips on her, but I wasn’t going to piss off the head of one of the most powerful mafias in New York City.

“And if anyone wants to challenge it, speak now.” The room was quiet. No one said a word. Salvatore turned to face the altar. He took a small dagger from the table beside it and cut his palm. Blood dripped slowly into a silver bowl. “Come,” he said. Damon stepped forward and did the same. He cut his palm and let his blood mix with Salvatore’s. “This is the bond,” Salvatore said. “You are now my beta.” Everyone clapped. Some people even cheered. Damon looked like he might cry. He bowed low in front of Salvatore.

A cry tore out of me as i went down and lost my balance, but Sebastién caught me, arms wrapping around me faster than I thought was possible. Chest heaving, I glanced up at him, he was staring at me with a heavy gaze that settled like heat in the pit of my belly. “Thanks.” I gasped. He smirked, and then without another word, swung me into his arms. “You can be very stubborn.” “My boss saved me from being brutally murdered, gave me first aid, washed me, undressed me and saw me in the worst state of my life.” I frowned, “I think the only thing I should have is my pride, don’t you think?”

I had to find at least some peace of mind in a world full of power. My laptop sat on the kitchen island before, I stared at the screen intently as I watched a preview of my favorite TV series, The Vampire Diaries, I really couldn't get enough of Damon Salvatore but my heart really aches for Stefan Salvatore, no grudges, I just loved Stefab a little more.

His aura, his dark eyes, his imposing stance. This man must be Dante Salvatore. Tall, perfectly dressed in a black suit that probably cost enough to feed all the children in the north. Dark hair styled back from his face, a carefully groomed beard - mustache and goatee that gave him the look of an old-world prince turned devil. The thin scar running from his ear to his chin cut through the edge of the beard, making him look even more dangerous. The drunk man—Mr. Armani—raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't know, Salvatore. I swear, I didn't know she was yours—"

I cut her argument short again, spilling the beans “Luke is Salvatore”